Courting Magic (Kat, Incorrigible #4)(16)
“Because—well, it may not be against the laws of the Order anymore, but it’s not—I mean, it’s hardly what a gentleman or a lady should—”
“Not bad,” said Alexander over the Marquess’s incoherent protests. He looked at my jewels with an assessing eye. “Did you use a real transformation spell, or only an illusion?”
“Oh, it’s only an illusion,” I said, “but it should do the trick.” I stepped away from the shield of the two men’s bodies. “My lord, will you perform the introductions?”
“But—but—!” The Marquess was still sputtering. “If someone notices that your jewelry has changed—”
“Then they’ll assume I traded jewels with a much more important friend,” I finished for him briskly. “Now, if you could kindly recall our mission for a moment….?”
Our rogue apparently preferred wealthy young ladies as his victims—and now that I’d cast my own illusion spell, I had a set of valuables on offer that looked more than tempting enough to catch a canny thief’s eye.
“You have met the real Prince of Wales before, haven’t you?” I asked the Marquess.
He stared at me as if I’d spoken in Spanish. “Of course I’ve met the Prince of Wales. He was a friend of my father’s.”
“Well, of course he was,” I repeated, and caught Alexander’s eye.
His lips twitched unmistakably.
“I’ll stay in the background,” he said, “and follow you out.”
“That should be entirely satisfactory,” I said, and sailed forward, dragging the stunned Marquess of Lanham with me.
Fortunately, he seemed to have recovered himself by the time we made it through the crowd of ladies who were flocking around the Prince. They recognized Lord Lanham, too, curtsying and fluttering with new excitement—which, it suddenly occurred to me, might explain a great deal about the stiff-necked Marquess. After all, he couldn’t have been more than two-or three-and-twenty at the absolute oldest, and yet everyone in Society seemed to treat him like a demigod, only because of his title and position. If this had been going on all his life, it was hardly surprising that he didn’t possess a sense of humor.
But that was a problem to consider later. In the meantime…
“Your Highness.” The Marquess bowed. “May I present Miss Katherine Stephenson?”
I sank into a curtsy so deep, it nearly took me to the floor. Belatedly, it occurred to me to hope that Stepmama couldn’t see me. If she thought I was being presented to the real Prince of Wales, she might just swoon…from horror, not excitement. My family always expected the worst from me.
Of course, if this had been the true Prince of Wales, even I might have been a bit uneasy about the whole affair. I didn’t feel the slightest bit of trepidation about conversing with a magical felon, though, no matter whose appearance he might be wearing.
“Your Highness,” I murmured, in my most saccharine-sweet voice. “I am deeply honored.”
“Of course, of course.” The so-called Prince took my hand in a large, rather sweaty grip. “Too charming, my dear,” he murmured as I straightened.
His gaze was trained exactly where I’d wanted it—on my chest. My false jewelry had done its job. Now, all I had to do was wait for him to suggest that we take a stroll around the room.
Instead, he let go of my hand and turned to the Marquess. “So, have you heard of Brummell’s latest start?”
The Marquess tilted his head in polite inquiry, while the group of women rustled closer. The closest, a redheaded woman just a few years older than me, with a perfectly straight nose and shockingly violet-blue eyes, gave a high-pitched giggle as she leaned toward the ‘Prince.’ “Oh, I can hardly wait to hear what the Beau’s said now! He is such a wit!”
Their words streamed over me like a cold fountain, meaning nothing. I blinked once, then again. The so-called Prince didn’t look back at me or at my necklace.
Why wasn’t he following his usual pattern?
Perhaps he knew that the Marquess was familiar enough with the real prince to suspect an imposture. He could be trying to allay suspicion with a bit of plausible-sounding princely gossip before he talked me out of the room. That would make sense, I supposed.
But if he didn’t act soon, the gong would sound for supper, and then we’d lose our chance entirely. Honestly, what kind of thief was he, to let himself be distracted by an endless discussion of fashion, of all tiresome topics?
I looked pointedly at the Marquess. He didn’t notice.
I cleared my throat.
The conversation abruptly halted.
The false Prince goggled at me so hard, his eyes positively bulged out like a frog’s. “Did you just clear your throat at us, young lady?”
“I had a bit of dust in my mouth,” I said, and only barely restrained myself from giving an unladylike shrug.
The other ladies tittered behind their fans as the ‘Prince’ stared at me in outright disbelief. Even the Marquess looked pale with horror at my breach in etiquette. Apparently, there were some things one didn’t do in public to a prince even if he was an obvious imposter…at least if you were entirely hidebound by convention.
Well, if Lord Lanham wasn’t going to help organize our mission, I would simply have to manage his part myself.